


Flowers bloom with no regret

by flowerdeluce



Category: Palo Santo - Years & Years (Music Video)
Genre: Androids, Dystopia, Gen, Pre-Canon, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-07-23 21:23:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16167218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowerdeluce/pseuds/flowerdeluce
Summary: Life as a human in the wild ruins leaves Olly hungry for something new, something dangerous.A pre-canon ficlet about how Olly was captured by the Showman (Version 10).





	Flowers bloom with no regret

**Author's Note:**

> This story is not based on the real Olly Alexander but the character he plays in the Palo Santo music video universe. 
> 
> In addition to the content of the three-part music videos (Sanctify, If You're Over Me, and Palo Santo), I also drew inspiration from the lyrics of songs from the album, particularly: Howl, Hypnotised, and Palo Santo.

No one smiles. The fire crackles in crisp, damp air, offering barely enough heat to warm the pairs of hands reaching out around it. There’s food in their bellies, and that’s something to be grateful for, but it’s a cold night—too cold even for stories.

Since before the revolution, the weather has been unpredictable. Even the oracle hadn’t foreseen this miserable cold’s approach; she’d mentioned  _something_  on the horizon in that ambiguous way of hers, her prophecy half-riddle, half-poetry. Olly knows it isn’t a storm or some other natural disaster to shake the ruin’s foundations, mere stacks of rubble these days. Her eyes said it all when she’d wrapped one gnarled hand around both of his: the something approaching was for him.

He leaves the fireside, sneaking light-footed through the tall trees framing the clearing. The others wouldn’t notice his absence until next headcount, where they’ll make sure no one’s gone missing since last sunrise, spirited away by an android or lost in the expanse of green Olly was now traversing by moonlight.

Striding through the jungle’s thick undergrowth, he feels for tree trunks he knows by touch. Their bark guides him, almost blind in the darkness but trusting the textures against his palms. Tangled roots compress underfoot; clusters of wet fern part as he passes through. The air feels thinner the further he ventures. Colder somehow, too.

Crickets chirp, their shrill sound echoing through the mist clinging to the trees. There’s one sound he follows, though, and that’s the gentle flow of the streamlet at his side, its fluid melody trickling down the incline, leading him to his destination.

The trees and vegetation thin out, opening into a clearing surrounding a natural pond. In the moon’s glow, the water is an oval mirror upon the soil, glowing, and as beautiful as the reflected heavens above. This isn’t a secret place—the pack fetches fresh water here daily—but Olly likes visiting alone. It’s always serene at night, the thick cover of trees and foliage on the neighbouring valley deadening all sound; it even seems to halt the breeze whispering through the leaves.

He sits cross-legged at the water’s edge. Closing his eyes, he inhales deep, the scent of wild water and uncontaminated air filling his lungs; he tastes it. The scene’s tranquillity seeps into his restless muscles, softens the tension in his shoulders. His hands relax against his thighs, fingers loose, palms bare to the stars. There’s something about this place that soothes his body and soul, reminds him he’s alive.

Humans aren’t supposed to leave their packs, especially at night—even the hunters go out in pairs, and never without arrows—but Olly feels safe amongst the trees, hidden away in an idyllic pocket of silence south of the loud, bright city.

After checking no one followed, he retrieves a square of paper from his pocket. Unfolding it against the soil, he flattens it with a palm, wincing at the tattered edges—he must take better care of it. The print is worn, but he can still make it out in the twilight. Once, this precious paper was mere litter, blown into the ruins from the android city where it may have adorned a wall. Olly doesn’t know its provenance. All he knows is it contains the android’s language, so he treats it with the utmost care, sharing it only with the stars above and this secret, almost holy place.

The pack are superstitious and consider Palo Santo’s runic symbols bad omens. It’s best they don’t know one of their own kind is attempting to learn the enemy’s language. They’d never consider this innocent fascination anything but reckless.

Around the fire, tales of androids consist of two categories, one: androids harm humans, torture them, kill them; and two: androids make humans like them—lifeless. Could there be a third category? It’s doubtful any member of his pack has ever held a conversation with an android. Even the elders have spent their lives running, passing down stories of death and destruction from the revolution, of the city of human slaves masquerading as paradise.

In the moon’s cool light, he studies the crumpled page. These are symbols he knows by heart, but there’s something hypnotic about them, something magic. Perhaps the elders were right—his secret attraction to these mysterious runes could be dangerous, bringing with it a curse of bad luck, bad weather, sickness, hunger, and all the evil things one could imagine. Tracing them onto the cold ground with a fingertip doesn’t feel dangerous, though. It’s so familiar a practise it’s almost therapeutic.

Without a clue to what he writes, he copies three of the symbols into the soil, one beside the other. They’re beautiful. He doesn’t need to understand.

The water mirrors the sky, a luminous dark blue stretched over the ground, studded with another set of blinking stars, a second waning moon in the centre; it’s almost a portal to some distant place. Olly wonders if another version of himself exists on the other side, a parallel soul, but in a world without the revolution, where humans saw the error of their clever meddling before it was too late. His palm skims the water and he dips a fingertip into that second sky. A ring of ripples spread to the edges. The reflection warps, shuddering. In that other universe, his touch might have an effect. It might become waves in another ocean, lapping at a sandy shore scattered with shells, far from a rubbish-strewn jungle at the edge of a robotic city.

A white bloom falls from above, breaking Olly from his trance with a jolt—a gardenia. It hits the water and glides towards him, disrupting the sky’s mirrored image. He watches it sail through the blue like a great ship, cutting a path through a vast ocean, waves crashing in its wake. Reaching out to grab it, he notices his own rippling reflection in the water. It’s surprising. He sees his own image so rarely. A bit thin, he thinks. Lost. The water settles after a while. Olly distracts himself by pulling the flower petals off one by one as his mind wanders.

He realises he’s shivering. Time to return to the fireside, then.

As he pulls the final petal from the gardenia, he casts one last look up to the stars. Hopefully, whoever might be up there, farther than the dark side of the moon, will notice his loneliness.

A shooting star paints a brief streak through the sky as he stands. He smiles, smudging the symbols in the soil with his foot, and throws the loose petals into the water.

*

Hands shake him from a dreamless sleep. Panic is thick in the air, almost palpable, lodged at the front of his senses and pulled taut across his chest. The fire’s been extinguished, water thrown over it. Everyone is scattering, collecting their meagre belongings in a frantic rush.

An android wanders the ruins, they say. There could be more than one. They could be surrounding the pack now, waiting to pounce and take whatever they pleased.

The youngest are crying, their mothers trying desperately to pacify them. There must be no emotion in this situation.

Olly follows the others through the undergrowth. They hurry him silently, coaxing and pointing which way to turn. The hunters know the paths to take, how to confuse the older models. The whole pack had climbed trees to escape before, waited the androids out until it was safe to return to terra firma, exhausted and hungry but  _free_. There are dug-outs closer to the city, hidden beneath nets made from vines and mud, but there’s no time to reach them. Instead, they must disguise themselves in nature. Most importantly, they must remain detached, for that’s how the androids discover them: emotion. Any will do. In these moments, they’d sense terror in the air, track it the way a predator stalks the scent of its prey.

They all know how to adopt  _the Vacancy_ , a technique taught from birth in the ruins. The Vacancy makes them invisible. Making themselves void of emotion, they become of no interest to the synthetic, soulless beings desperately seeking the only thing humans have that they don’t.

Branches crack nearby. Everyone freezes.

It’s time.

The pack members back up against the closest trees, lowering their heads to stare at the ground. Olly echoes their movements, swallowing down his fear, clasping his hands together so they don’t tremble, remembering the mantra.

Don’t be afraid.  
Think only of nothing.  
Breathe shallow and slow.  
Ignore and be ignored.  

The Vacancy takes time to perfect. There are weaker pack members, those more likely to be taken because they’re unable to control a natural anxiety. As a child, Olly was one of those weaklings. He’d experienced the cold glare of an android straight in front of him, when he was too young to understand the danger. Miraculously, he’d managed to stand his ground, stare back with breath held, eyes wide and body shuddering. It took another that day, but Olly had always wondered how different his life would’ve been if it hadn’t.

As he looks up from his feet, Olly notices a narrow pathway between nearby trees, beyond his camouflage of crawling vines and lofty shrubbery. It runs parallel to his hiding place, undergrowth flattened by frequent footfall, its edges littered with the same white flowers he’d seen the night before. Movement at the end of the path distracts him: the android.

Hypnotised, Olly watches the figure walk the path. His heart slams hard against his breastbone, blood pumping loud in his ears. It’s hard to breathe. A dizzying sensation washes over him, like being pulled underwater. The android keeps walking at its steady pace, closer and closer.

Something else controls Olly now. Invisible hands usher him forwards, pushing his back from the tree with warm, comforting fingers. Without resistance, he takes a step forward, letting them guide him.

Glancing at the others, their expressions alone tell him this is pure stupidity. They remain still, warning with only their eyes: do not do this. But it’s a wild compulsion that carries him now, lifting his feet as he takes instinctive yet trembling steps towards the path of flowers. He recalls how it felt as a child to come face to face with what he was told should be his greatest fear, how long he’s been wondering about the direction his life could’ve taken.

He must do this now or he never will.

Inhaling deeply, he walks into the android’s path and turns to face it.

The android stops. Their eyes meet, gazes locked for what feels like minutes. Fear chains Olly to his spot, body stock-still besides the accelerating pulse of his heart thrumming through him.

The android’s appearance is human—modelled on a male. It wears a suit, pristine from head to toe, and carries a briefcase. Its overcoat is littered with the same runes Olly has collected in his mind for as long as he can remember. Finally, it—or he, he supposes—bows its head a small degree, almost in greeting. Olly swallows. He’s afraid to do anything in return.

The android’s eyes move, jerking in small increments to regard Olly from his feet to his crown and back again. Seemingly satisfied, he lowers his dark briefcase to the ground in one smooth motion, leaving the flowers on the pathway undisturbed. Keeping his eyes on Olly, he squats slowly, moves slowly, as though the human might spook like a frightened deer if he moves any faster. The case clicks open. Olly’s pushes his toes into the dirt, lifting himself a little to peer inside. Illuminated by the morning’s sunlight, he sees a band of gold glisten within the case’s blood-red interior—a collar.

The android lifts it from the case with that same deliberately slow speed until he’s standing once more. When he takes a small step, Olly sets his jaw, breathing hard through his nose. The android moves closer, studying him throughout his approach.

Twitching with nervous energy, Olly lowers his head in submission, eyes on the ground, making no attempt to block his emotions this time. He’s terrified. But allowing himself to feel it is electrifying, intoxicating. Sweat prickles across his skin when the android’s polished shoes stop on the ground before his bare feet. He brings the collar to Olly’s neck with the same steady cautiousness as a human trying to catch a butterfly. Unlike a butterfly, Olly knows he won’t be released following his capture.

The first touch of cold metal against his skin forces him to look up. The android still stares, watching his every movement with curiosity. In such proximity, the glass spheres of his eyes look inhuman, as void as the Vacancy. Olly sees his own reflection within them, a vision of himself submitting, allowing his capture. It startles him, makes him jerk back. Surprisingly, the android makes no attempt to grab him. So, this was his decision, then? If he fled, would the android not give chase? He’s not sure he wants to find out.

The collar’s clasp clicks into place, locking around Olly’s neck. It’s heavy but not uncomfortable as it settles on his collar bones. His reflection in the android’s eyes has changed now: it’s strong, almost proud. He feels light-headed again, but that could be the relief, for this is the first time in his life he’s felt like he has a destiny, that he isn’t wandering the jungles merely surviving.

This android may take him to Palo Santo, a city he’s been warned about for as long as he can remember. Then again, he might not. He might kill him, or suck all the emotion from him and leave him craving death. Then again, he might not. It’s a risk he’ll have to take.

He turns to the others. Their eyes remain down, chests rising and falling as they stay hidden in the greenery. A few of them look up, worry painting their features. Olly hopes they’ll understand from his expression alone: this is his choice, not a surrender.

The android says nothing. Turning on the path, he collects his suitcase and begins to walk. Olly follows.


End file.
